The Promise
by hidekodahlia
Summary: or, The Saint's Tale. Exploring why he is called Saint Dane, where he is from, why he is the way he is, and who he made a promise to.
1. Prologue

_Author's note and etc: I don't own the character of Saint Dane, nor the idea of the Travelers. Lanneri, however, is my own creation. Enjoy, comment, critique, whatever you like._

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THE PROMISE

or, The Saint's Tale

Prologue

For a long time, now, all I have been able to see is darkness. An all-enveloping darkness that, if not for the visits, would slowly eat away one's soul. It hasn't always been like this; far from it. Once, I... Once. The story of "once" shall be told when the time comes. Now, however, I am trapped inside this body, inside this darkness, with little relief and no escape. I do not even know how long it has been since the darkness took me. I have long since stopped telling time in hours and days. I now count the time by the visits.

Every so often, I will stir up towards consciousness, enough to feel my body and surroundings, enough to work my eyes for a time. When I stir, there is a black bird - a raven, a crow - by my side. It comforts me. I can feel its feathers. They are cool and soft and smooth against my usually unfeeling skin. I know it is him, even though he doesn't want to show himself to me. I know it is, because I can feel him. He knows that I could not bear it if he were to actually show himself to me.

This is where the story begins. This is why it is so.


	2. The Rules of the Game

Chapter 1, The Rules of the Game

The sun was shining on that day. I clearly remember that. It was the only thing I was able to see that was good about that day when it started. I was stuck in a useless existence, living on what I could find and on the charity of others and had been since I was a child; I wasn't to the point of begging yet, but I was close. All I had to look forward to was a dead end. I didn't expect that day to completely change my outlook or my life.

It was around midday; I was walking through the market when I lost my balance and nearly fell into the path of an oncoming vehicle. However, I was caught by the arm and pulled back. Needless to say, I was surprised. Both at losing my balance, and that someone would catch me. I murmured a "thank you" in the direction of my rescuer and tried to turn, but again to my surprise, the hand that had caught me had not let go of my arm. Strong, thin fingers gripped my upper arm, jerking me back a foot as I tried to walk away. I spun on the spot, planning to fix whoever was holding on to me with a glare. But what I saw stopped me, and all thoughts of glaring went out of my head.

Holding my arm was a tall man - a good head taller than myself, and I am considered tall - dressed all in black, with shoulder length hair almost the same color as my own. His eyes, which had widened when I turned around, were the color of the sky on a clear day. His skin was pale, and his hands were soft on my bare skin. But it was only for a moment; until we both realized who and where we were. He was in a completely different class than me; practically another race. The rich cut of his dark clothes told me everything that I needed to know about him. He was important. He would never think twice about someone of my status after he turned around. But he surprised me.

"Come," he said in my general direction as he let go of me. His voice was low; a melodious tenor. I found that my feet had obeyed before my mind had thought the meaning of the word. I followed.

We walked out of the market, almost out of the city, and certainly out of any place familiar to me. Yet, it must have been familiar to him, because he picked his way through the buildings with a natural ease. Finally, between two buildings, and the alleyway becoming a dead end, he stopped. I stopped a few feet from him. Not wanting to ruin any chance of his charitability, I obeyed the laws of social conduct and waited for him to speak first.

"You... probably want to know why I asked you to follow me," he said without turning to face me.

"Yes, I do," I answered a little more coldly than I had intended to.

"It was your hair. That silver should never have left the nobility, and yet you live on the streets."

I had no idea what he was talking about. "I've always lived on the streets. I've never had any ties to the nobility."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and I thought he might have been a bit taken aback at my statement. His own hair shimmered as it brushed gently against the rich fabric of his jacket. I heard him mutter something, but because he was facing away from me, I didn't catch the nature of it.

"Look, I've got no one and nowhere to go. Never have, probably never will. If you have something to say, then tell me, otherwise I'll be on my way, if you don't mind, sir."

He ran his fingers once through his silky hair, and turned to face me. His expression was cool, and a bit intimidating, but I mustered up my willpower and met his gaze. "You're lying to me."

My gaze turned into a glare, as I tried to keep control of my voice. "I would never lie."

He took three agressive steps towards me, then stopped dead as he regained his momentarily lost composure. I had flinched and lost most of my anger. He ran his fingers through his hair again and sighed.

"Let me start over. My name is Dane."

"Lanneri."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lanneri. If... you will allow me to explain... Maybe it would be best if we went... inside," he finished somewhat lamely, opening a door and gesturing for me to go in. I followed the silent command. By this point I didn't care what happened, I was at my wits end.

That day, nothing happened as I expected. Dane brought me up to his own rooms, treated me to amazing food, and talked with me as if I were of his class. For once in my life, I was content. For once, I couldn't think of one thing that was wrong. One thing that I hated, that I wanted to end. I was happy, I think, at that moment. Dane was a gentleman in every sense of the word when he wanted to be. At other times he was cruel and cold to the things he had qualms with. He wanted change. And, I thought, at least he was in a position to do something about it.

Dane answered all my questions, and I answered his. He explained his confusion at seeing me in the market. Silver hair and light eyes were a rarity. Anyone who had them in combination had the blood of a long dead artisan/warrior clan in them. Most that could claim an ancestral line of that caliber had high seats in government and the workings of society, or else lived comfortably on their family's estates. Dane had never seen anyone of that bloodline anywhere other than the most comfortable places, explaining his surprise at finding me down at the other end of the economy. I had been an orphan for as long as I could remember; I had to fend for myself and live off the good souls who could spare a room or a meal. Late at night, I had been mistaken for an apparition on some occasions because of my light skin and hair, and had found gifts and offerings outside those people's doors later.

Dane, like so many of his blood, was in an affluent position in the governing body. His rooms were luxurious and cushy; the walls were covered in expensive draperies, the furniture upholstered with rich fabrics, and everything else gilded with more glitter and crystal than a well off lady of the evening. So, here he sat, resplendent in his black silks in a deep chair holding a glass filled with a crimson liquid. The reds and black of the room set off his hair and eyes like a beacon of light on a stormy night. After explaining his reaction, he sat back, waiting for me to ask a question. I was seated, somewhat uncertainly, on a ostentatious settee of mahogany crushed velvet with a glass in my hand. I felt decidedly out of place in my rather worn clothing. I took a sip of the liquid in my glass and jerked. It was sweet, but it hit the tongue oddly and turned bitter. It felt like it twisted somehow. I swallowed it with my eyes closed, and looked into my glass.

"What is this?" I asked Dane, looking up at him. He was smiling to himself.

"It's called 'wine.' It's made by juicing a fruit and letting the nectar sit for years in a bottle."

I had never heard of anything like it. I blinked and looked into my glass again, as if the old juice would answer my question. When I looked up again, Dane's cool eyes were alight with amusement. The day progressed in this fashion; Dane showed me things that I had never seen, never heard of, or never would have thought of. I would be amazed and intrigued by the objects, and he would be amused.

The sky started growing dark and went unnoticed. We had what I considered a feast for a meal; a plethora of delicate dishes and bold entrées. It was a quiet meal. Dane picked over his food with a cursory glance, sipped his wine, and took on a look of deep consternation. I was more than happy to try every plate that was on the table, and ate more than I had in weeks. When I had tried everything at least once, I looked at Dane, who seemed to not have moved during my perusal of goods. He had, however, eaten some of the food on his plate.

"Are you not hungry?" I ventured to ask.

He looked up, perhaps surprised for moment that there was someone else with him. He turned his gaze back to his cup, which had managed to refill itself while I wasn't looking. He swirled the contents. "No, not really. I find that food only gets in the way of work most of the time."

I cocked my head. "Your work? I don't believe I've learned what it is you do, yet, Monsieur Dane."

He looked sideways at me, probably as much from the humorous form of address as anything, and his eyes glowed in the muted light. "No, you haven't. I work in the government. My work is somewhat precarious, and takes me to many strange places. Leave it at that. Though..."

"Though?" I prompted after a moment.

"I aim to be the Saint."

It was an ambitious jump. It was a hard earned and taxing post. The Saint was in essence the leader of the people, and of our world. The country is divided into four diocese; each of the diocese has its own leader, called an Archbishop. The Archbishops are controlled by the main government's board of Patriarchs, who are in turn controlled by the Saint. The Saint has almost unrivaled power, unless the majority of the Patriarchs disagree or challenge. The past Saints had mostly been heroes of the people, elected for their charisma and appeal moreso than any real ambitions to change the world. People only thought they would. So far, nothing had been done. I could vouch for that.

Once it had become full dark, I left. Dane had become more breviloquent and paced as the evening wore on, and I had finally deemed it 'time to go.' I meandered back to the lonely room I had found and called mine, but did not sleep. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw his. I stared at the ceiling for hours, memorizing every crack in it.

When it finally started to become light outside, I went outside. I walked out far, in the opposite direction that I had gone yesterday, to a park with a panoramic view of the horizon. I watched the sun rise in its entirety. I marveled and wondered at how, once the tip of the sun touched the horizon, it rose so quickly that the eye could actually see it move, but once the other edge had cleared the land, it seemed to hardly move at all. The light went from lifeless and dull to pastelled vibrancy in that short period of time. The world came back to life after the small death of the night. Again, I thought about Dane. How, though uncomfortable, important he had made me feel the day before. I knew that I would probably never cross his thoughts again, that I would never be included in his plans.

The elections for the Patriarchs and Saint were not long away. The old Saint was becoming weak with age, and a new Saint needed to be chosen to be his successor. With the election of the Saint, the election of a new Patriarchal board was needed. The Patriarchs, when needed, chose their own successors, unless there was a new Saint being chosen. They consisted of a fairly wide range of ages, and an almost constant influx of new Patriarchal candidates was needed to maintain the cabinet's dynamic. Of course, this meant a drastic change in social and economic dynamics ever few decades with the inauguration of a new Saint, but the people had grown used to it. The poor only got poorer, and the rich only got richer.

The city around me started to come to life. People awoke, shops opened, workers left for their jobs. The streets became filled will life and cluttered with monotony once again. I knew I hated it. Everyday was the same thing, and nothing ever threw the gears of this well-greased society out of sync. Wars, border disputes, armed revolutions, or any show of force were rare enough that people were liable to forget them in their quiet existence.

I suddenly wanted to throw off that gear. I wanted to jar the world into action and out of apathy. I had to talk to Dane.

I retraced my steps of the night before, with a bit of difficulty, as it had been dark when I left and I was unaccustomed to that section of the city. But I found the building that I had spent the majority of the day in the day before. I checked the handle and found my way unbarred. Slowly, quietly calling an apology for intruding, I entered and made my way up the stairs to Dane's rooms. I knocked.

"Who is it?" came the curt reply.

"It's Lanneri. The lady you met yester--" I jerked back mid sentence as the door flew open.

Dane towered over me, seeming taller than I remembered. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the door, shutting it neatly behind him. He spun me around to face him, and leaned towards me.

"Why are you here?" he asked sharply.

I met his cold, accusing eyes. "I needed to talk to you."

"We talked last night. I answered all of your questions." He let go of me and stalked back to his desk, where I assumed I had disturbed him from writing something.

I sighed inwardly, and took a few steps toward him. He spun in his chair and glared. I set my jaw and took another step. I could see his annoyance at my presence growing. I took another step. And another, and another, until I was standing beside his chair. For a long moment neither of us spoke. Our eyes locked in silent battle, wordlessly arguing our points until our ears rang with the absence of sound.

"What do you need?" Dane finally asked softly, his low voice contrasting with the bells I heard in my head.

"Power." I moved to examine an exotic-loking object on a shelf, if only to break the hold of his cold, piercing gaze. "Our world needs to be woken up from it's tedium. The population has become complacent with the status quo, and it's not enough. The slums in the cities are becoming worse and worse, because no one has the will or the power to do anything about it."

I ended my monologue leaning over the desk, balancing myself with my hands. Dane gazed silently past me, or perhaps through me. I made a noise of frustration and dragged my fingers in to meet my palms making fists and waited for a response to my aberrant remarks and ambitions.

The seconds dragged on and felt like hours. My hanging head was starting to feel the blood rushing in it, and I felt hot and flushed. I lifted my head at last. Dane was not, as I had thought before, looking past me, but was looking directly at me. Those icy, focused eyes bore into my mind like a drill. My breath caught for a moment.

Then something changed in those hard eyes. I didn't know what it was, but his face lightened, his lips curled into an almost reassuring smile, even if the smile didn't reach his eyes. He took on a thoughtful look. I breathed again and straightened. His gaze shifted from his stapled fingers in front of him to me.

"I will help you, Lanneri-" he remembered my name, a small part of my mind shouted, "- and I agree with you. This land has been too content to just sit back and watch the world crumble around them."

He stood; he was a full head and shoulders taller than me, an intimidating figure to say the least. His dark clothing drank in the diffused light of the room, and his silver hair formed a halo around his head. I relaxed from a tension in my muscles I hadn't known was there. His commanding aura left no doubt in my mind that I would do whatever he asked to achieve my goal. And that he would do anything to help me achieve my goals. Again, there was that thoughtful, michevious smirk playing across his features. There was no warmth at all in that grin, though; it was as cold as steel, and had a sadistic twist to it. I felt my own lips twist into a facsimile of that grin. Revenge on those who had made my life miserable, whether they knew it or not. Revenge on those who sat comfortably while there were food shortages and infants dying because of malnourishment. Revenge on the people of the world who were so blind that they couldn't see everything turning to dust. It was a sweet moment.

Like all things, the moment was over too soon. Dane moved to get two glasses and a bottle of his crimson elixir. I followed a few steps behind him. He poured the glasses and held one out to me. I accepted it gratefully, and waited for him to drink first. Instead he spoke.

"To changing the world," he drawled, and held up his glass. I repeated the toast and held my glass up to his. We both drank.

The wine tasted sweeter than it had the night before. The bottle was the same one that had been on the table, and was evidently the same wine; it was my state of mind. I had hated my life so long, and something was finally going right.

I left that day feeling more elated than ever before. The weeks dragged on and plans began to take shape. I went to Dane almost every day, though I had turned down his offer of rooms. His offer of food, however, I could not turn down. He was waiting for me on most days, but there were some that he was gone altogether. On those days, I would wait for him, often for days at a time.

Once I had fallen asleep in his chair, comfortably curled upon the plush cousions. When I awoke, I was neatly tucked in to a blanket. I opened my eyes and looked around. Dane sat at his desk with his back to me. Silently, I slipped from the chair and moved over to him.

"You need more rest. I can't help you when you're exhausted like that."

I sighed. He had amazingly sharp hearing. I lay my hand on his shoulder when I was close enough. He put down his pen and shuffled away his writing. After coming back from his periods of disappearing, he always wrote. I was curious as to what he was working on. He never volunteered information, though, so I never asked. If he wanted to tell me, he would. Over the past few weeks we had grown closer; that he didn't move away from my hand on his shoulder was proof of that. We had talked for long periods of time, late into the night.

I had learned more about Dane, though not nearly as much as he had learned about me. He had no family left, like me; they had all either died or couldn't be found. As the lone surviving member of the family, he had inherited everything, which amounted to quite a bit. He worked his way ambitiously up through the higher echelons of the government, and, as I had discovered when I had first met him, he aspired to be the Saint.

Dane shut the drawer of his desk with a snap, and then for a moment covered my hand with his. His cool skin felt good on the back of my warm. Our hands fell away.

"I'll get the wine, shall I?" I inquired, and turned without awaiting a reply.

I opened the cabinet that contained Dane's store of wine. I had become somewhat familiar with it during my visits, and was gaining a knowledge of which bottles were which. I reached out a picked up a bottle labeled "Cabernet Sauvignon" with a number under it, which I assumed was a means of identification. The contents were almost a third gone.

"Lanneri," rumbled a voice not two feet behind me. I straightened in surprise. He had been as silent as a feather on the wind. Dane prized the bottle from my grasp, brushing my hand as he did. "I thought we'd try something new, tonight. I think you'll like it."

In Dane's other hand was what looked like a large squished wine bottle. It was wider in circumference than any of the ones in the cabinet, had no label, and wasn't translucent glass. Dane replaced the wine bottle in its rightful place in the cabinet and drew out two glasses from another. These, like the jug, were stouter than the wine glasses I had become accustomed to. He pulled out the stopper on the jug and poured out a half glass of amber liquid into each glass. I looked first at the new drink, and then at Dane, quizzically.

"Sniggers," he said shortly.

"Sniggers?" I repeated, trying to fit my tongue around the completely unfamiliar and aberrant word. He nodded.

I took a sip of the new drink, expecting it to be like wine, where I couldn't take large swallows without my entire body shaking for a moment with the strange taste. The new drink tasted like fire, somehow. I was completely unsure what to make of it. It was wholly different from the sweet, dry, twisted taste of the red wines I had become accustomed to. I closed my eyes tightly for a minute after that first sip, and forced myself to take another. Dane calmly and quietly sipped his, watching my reactions over the top of his glass. He let almost no emotion into his eyes as he did, staying unreadable and cool. I was used to that look; he studied my reactions to things he gave me or showed me, storing all the information away for some unfathomable purpose, and yet he never showed any happiness or anger at my positive or negative reactions.

I usually let him have his secrets. I kept few of my own; Dane had a way of looking right past the walls I set up around myself and went straight to the heart of the matter. Still, as I had become closer to him, he had answered more questions, and more thoroughly. I chanced one, then.

"Where... are these 'sniggers' from?" I asked out of pure curiosity, half expecting him to ignore the question entirely. To my surprise he answered.

"From a place called 'Cloral.' It's the drink of choice for the natives, like wine is to its own origins. Both have somewhat intoxicating effects in the places they are from."

The name Cloral was decidedly unfamiliar, but I didn't dare try my luck in getting Dane to answer more questions. He gave me information at his choosing, not at my request. However, he surprised me again, and went on to explain.

"Cloral, as I am sure you are unfamiliar with the name, is a separate place from here. It is, in many ways, like our world, but at the same time it is different. The people live on massive ships that support their entire economy and ecology."

I tried to imagine a ship that large -- the biggest I had seen was a large fishing boat. But an entire culture that lived on the water? I couldn't fathom it. Dane must have seen my incredulous look, because he continued with his monologue.

"Yes, there are many other worlds besides ours. They are linked together by a system of pathways called flumes, which can only be accessed by certain individuals by calling out out the name of the territory -- the other worlds -- that you wish to travel to. The ones who can manipulate the flumes, such as myself, are called Travelers."

He set his cup down, stood, and paced a bit with his hands clasped behind his back. I wondered why he was telling me these strange things. Surely, he was jesting. But as I took another sip of his "sniggers" my thoughts twisted like the taste. What if it were true? What if there were other worlds out there? Dane stopped, with his back to me.

"But, the other territories are in constant conflict with themselves. Each world in turn will fall, and will need someone to rebuild them. I plan on being that someone."

"Even ours? Our world, it will will fall, as well?"

Dane nodded. I blinked away my suddenly teared vision. I stared into my drink until I could see clearly again. The world would end; probably all of society would end, and then what would happen? Dane said he would rebuild it, but would there be enough people to rebuild it from?

"Not everyone will die," he said, as if reading her morbid thoughts. "In most places it will be a war, but not always. Some places will destroy themselves from the inside, wishing dreams into reality instead of living with their hardships."

A thought made its slow way across my consciousness. Without looking up, I half asked, "That's why you wish to be the Saint... isn't it?"

There was a pause. "Yes. So I can rebuild Ibara after the world is broken. As a Traveler it is my duty to see that the territories are saved after they are broken. I will unite them, and they will never again be broken. Yet, there are those who would wish to stop me. Other Travelers want the worlds for themselves; they are selfish and wish to keep the territories separate so that they may be broken again and again. Every time that happens, there will be a paradox, and each of the two possible futures that could have happened will break off into separate worlds, lost on the sea of time, and unreachable to me. I must stop the others before they have their futures become reality. However, I need someone here to keep everything in order." He turned to me. "Lanneri, would you do that for me? You, with your silver hair? The same ancient blood runs through our veins; you would help me, wouldn't you?"

He asked in all sincerity. His eyes met mine, and held them, whispering promises of glory and honor; his icy blue eyes hypnotized me and persuaded me. I found myself nodding, though not because of anything his eyes had told me. I truly did want to help him; he had said that he would help me, so I in turn would help him. At my nod, the corner of his mouth quirked up a bit.

"Here."

In his hand was the sheaf of papers that I had seen him writing after his occasional disappearances. He held them out to me, wanting me to take them. I merely looked at them.

"Dane, I--"

"You can read, can't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Take them. You need to read them in order to understand the situation," he reasoned, and thrust the pile of papers into my hand, nearly spilling my mug. He continued, not noticing, "These are my journals. I keep all my thoughts and experiences in them. I'm trusting you, Lanneri."

I stared at the journals, and suddenly wanted nothing to do with them; these were Dane's private writings, and an outsider reading them would be an intrusion into personal space. But Dane, being himself, saw my indecision for what it was, and addressed the problem swiftly and soundly. I set my cup down in order to straighten the papers, and was about to hand them back to say I couldn't possibly read them when he startled me.

Before more than the first noise of dissent has issued from my throat, Dane had backed me into the cabinets, standing with his arms to either side of me and his face only inches from mine.

"You gave me your word."

My eyes narrowed slightly, and my head went back in defense. "I never gave you my word. I nodded. That is not 'giving my word.' Had I known that you would have me read something this personal, I would never had agreed."

Dane's moved back a bit, but kept me trapped between his arms. I thought he hadn't expected me to speak back to him. He looked at me for a long time, his coldfire eyes unmoving as they attempted to find some crack in my will. He didn't glare, only looked and searched my features. But my mind was made up, and I wasn't about to back down. He must have seen it, because he changed tactics before I realized what was happening. With one of his hands, he started to play with the ends of my hair.

My hair, when I cared to let it down, was a bit past my waist. I generally kept it tied back or slightly braided to keep it as out of the way as possible without actually cutting it; it was easier to keep it long than cutting it to length every few weeks. That day, it had been in a loose braid for half its length and unbound for the remainder so that the majority of my coiffure reached to my lower back. Against the wall as I was, my silver tresses spilled out from behind me in perfect reach of Dane. He didn't move his hand much; he moved just enough to twist a lock of hair around his finger and to tug on it playfully; I wouldn't have expected such an intimate move from him if he had told me what he had intended. A hint of a smile played across his lips.

"When was the last time you had your hair trimmed, Lanneri?" he asked, not looking at my eyes, but rather my hair.

I was so taken aback by the question that I couldn't think to answer for a moment. "A... about six months ago, I think. It may have been longer, in all honesty."

He shot me a dark look, and went back to examining my hair, as if my answer had been of no consequence. I tried a few times to ask what had brought on the question, but every time I tried, my tongue fell mute. After a few minutes, he looked at me again, directly meeting my gaze. He moved his hand to take the stack of papers from my grasp, which I was quite willing to let go of, and continued to play with my hair with his other hand, never letting go of my eyes throughout the whole exchange. When he saw no change in my eyes, he took hold of my shoulder and moved me away from the wall with slightly more force than I think he had intended. With my opposite arm, and grabbed his wrist, but he didn't let go or loosen his hold. I had no choice but to follow as he led me out of the room.

"What-- where are you--?" I managed to stammer. He dragged me along through two rooms before dumping me unceremoniously onto a hardwood chair. I didn't need his glare to tell me not to move from it, and I didn't until he came back with a slim black case in his hand. I glared right back.

He ignored it. From the case, he drew a fine-toothed ivory comb, and a long pair of silver scissors, and with his other hand he gathered up my hair. After a few moments I submitted to the administrations, and closed my eyes. The slight tug of the comb, and Dane's hand running over my hair behind it were soothing. The scissors clipped, and started to fall into a hypnotic pattern, which threw me into my thoughts and away from my surroundings.

I honestly wasn't sure what to think about Dane's proposition. On the one hand, a partnership would give me some semblance of steady work; on the other hand, reading those journals was an incursion into Dane's private life, which he had so far volunteered little information on. However, the request had come from Dane himself, which was a sign that he trusted me implicitly.

In the end, I caved. When Dane had finished trimming the split ends and taken a few inches off the ragged bottom, I turned around on the chair. I kept me eyes on my hands in my lap. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was sliding the tools back into their sleek case.

"I'll do it."

Neither of us moved for a moment. Then, without my noticing, a tension was gone from the air. It was like the feeling of relaxing a muscle after keeping it taut for a period of time.

Dane put his hand on my head and said in the sincerest voice I had ever heard from him, "Thank you."

"I'm not doing this for you," I said, eyes still on my hands. Dane let his fingers wind through my hair.

"I don't care if you aren't. As long as you're doing it," he said softly, letting his hand fall away. His walls were back in place. He turned away to set the black case on a small table in the corner. "Take the journals and read them. All of them; every single word."

I bobbed my head, gracefully got off the chair, and went to retrieve his journals. I read them. I mostly sat in one of Dane's big chairs, curled up with my feet tucked under me, but occasionally I would read them before going to sleep in the spare bedroom that I finally hadn't declined use of. On those occasions, I would prop myself up with pillows and curl myself around the journals to read.

It took me nearly a week to finish them all. Once I had gotten into the rhythm of Dane's writing it became easier, but there was still a lot of material. Towards the end, there started to be more comments about our city, whereas before, there had been nearly no mention of it, save to compare it to the customs of the place that Dane was currently in. There was one sentence which caught my eye.

'Today I met a woman.'

Just that sentence, and I started to have a whole different view of the Dane that I had come to know at the same time that he had written the thoughts. It made me reflect on the duality of the mind, and how others may not perceive the thinker's intent or situation. He sometimes spoke about me in his journals, sometimes writing directly to me, as if he had known that I would eventually read them. He posed questions, he wrote monologues, he predicted and assessed. He was cold in nature, and it showed in the dry, calculating writings; nonetheless they were the most intriguing pieces of literature I had ever read. They were eloquent, and every step in his processes had a place, even as complicated and drawn out as they were.

Since the first night I had begun reading, I had stayed in Dane's apartments. One the third day of my reading, most of my belongings appeared in my borrowed room. On the fifth, I received a gift.

Dane returned from a morning of absence with a box in his arms. I hadn't been awake for long, having been kept up reading his journals and not wanting to break off without finding a decent stopping point, and I was lounging in one of the comfortable chairs trying to continue my reading. Dane stopped in front of me and stood perfectly still until I looked up at him. He held the box out to me, and I set aside the journals to take it from him. When I had relieved him of the package he turned his back to me.

"Open it," he commanded, and I did so.

The lid of the box came off easily, and the contents of the box startled me. Floating on top of a sea of velvet and satin was a silver ring with symbols etched into it. I stared at the ring for a moment before snapping my head up to look at Dane's back. I furrowed my brows and thought furiously. Why in the world would Dane give me something like this? He'd only told me to read his journals and that he would help me on my newfound journey for gaining the power to make life better for the lower classes. My eyes flicked back to the ring, then back to Dane a few more times before I could speak clearly.

"What-- but, why? What do you want me to--"

He cut me off with another command. "Put them on."

It was then that I realized that the fabric the ring was sitting on was actually a dress. I set the box on the chair, moved the ring from the box to the arm of the chair, and took out the dress. It had a low neck, I noticed; it was much lower than anything I had worn before, but from what I had seen on other women, seemed to be the style. I took a breath and turned around, but Dane was already walking out of the room. He closed the door, and I heard him lean against it. I waited for a moment, and then changed into the garment. In the box, too, were a choker and stockings to match the dress, and I put those on as well. When I had done all I could, I rapped on the door to let Dane know I was finished, and that he would come back in.

His mouth twitched into a slight smile when he saw me. It was a cold smile, though; it was like he wasn't looking at how I looked, but rather the image I presented. With him, he brought slightly platformed black shoes, and he held them out for me. I obliged, and put them on. When they were on, he took my hand, and slowly spun me around, to see how the dress looked from every angle.

I had been right; it did have a plunging neckline, and it seemed lower than what I had seen the fashion as. The whole dress was black velvet with black satin trim and lace. The sleeves continued from the body of the dress in velvet, but at the elbows there was a band of satin, and then continued to the wrist in flowing black lace. The choker was the same style; it was a satin band with lace fringe around the bottom. The petticoat of the skirt was also black lace. Black lace stockings ended just above my knees in a band of satin with velvet bows.

Dane brought me around to face him, and his smile warmed a little. He dropped my hand and fingered a lock of my hair.

"They fit you perfectly," he noted, and started to braid the lock he was playing with.

"Yes. They do fit very well... But... why are you giving these to me?"

He continued braiding, but gave me a look that clearly said "You don't know?" and explained, "If you want to stay close to me, you need to present a certain social image. Otherwise you are of no use. I needed someone close at hand to manage some things here, and since you were here... The opportunity seemed too good to pass up. Therefore, if you stay, you need a new wardrobe."

He reached the bottom of the braid and let it fall. I took a step backwards, and felt my foot hit the chair. I clasped my hands in front of me and looked down at them. It was a business venture, then, his surreptitious gifts. I had hoped for a moment that it had been pity, or sympathy, or some small moment of kindness; truthfully, though, I wasn't very surprised about its practicality. If it had indeed been a gift of kindness, I think I would have fainted from the shock. Dane was cold, even to me. He had some sort of twisted charisma that drew people to him, though. I stifled a sigh and continued to look at my hands as I saw Dane's feet walking away from me.

"I also wanted to see how it looked on you."

He never ceased to surprise me, it seemed. I sat sharply onto the arm of the chair to steady myself and tell myself I hadn't hallucinated his last comment. Dane turned quickly as I sat, and made a move toward me, but stopped halfway through the motion. More slowly, he walked to the chair and picked up the ring on the other arm. I tried to gather my thoughts.

After a few moments of thick silence, Dane held out the ring to me.

"This, however, only has a business meaning behind it. When I am away, and if I have time to write, I can send whatever I write directly to you, without having to return here. Wear it. I may need you to do something for me, someday."

I tentatively held my hand out as well, and he dropped the ring into it. It was heavier than it looked. I traced the symbols with a finger before putting it on. At first, I had thought it would be too big, but as I put it on, it seemed to shrink to fit my lithe fingers. I let my hands fall to my lap and looked at Dane. As I did, he turned away from me and stalked out of the room. I didn't see him again for the rest of the time it took me to finish my reading, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was being watched the whole time. Things would move themselves around, or appear, in rooms I left only for moments at a time. I found blankets tucked around me when I woke up from naps. I knew Dane was there, even if I couldn't see him.

On the seventh morning after starting the journals, I finished the last sentence and set the whole stack I had been reading the day before on Dane's writing desk. I then straightened the piles sitting on the desk. As I did, Dane appeared behind me. As he sometimes did, he stayed silent until I acknowledged his presence. I turned to say something, but the words died before they could leave my tongue. Dane was smiling at me, somewhat sadistically, although he seemed genuinely happy; he looked like the bloodhound who had killed the fox. I backed into the desk and leaned on it, a bit scared of what could have caused him to be like this.

I glanced around for an escape, but he was too close for me to move far. He pressed himself even closer, putting his hands on the desk one either side of me to trap me there. I snaked my head back as far as it could go without overbalancing. He leaned in close enough to whisper into my ear.

"The Saint is dead."

I controlled myself enough not to move my head. He moved his head enough to look at me, and his smile grew wider and more malicious. I was about to move, or say something, anything, to get him to move, but he stopped me again. This time, it was by a kiss. I didn't breathe for a moment. He pulled away, and between the wild look in his eye and his next words, I had nightmares. His voice came out in a low, seductive growl.

"Let the games begin."


	3. The Games Begin

Chapter 2, The Games Begin

Over the next few months I perfected my act of being upper-class to the point where I nearly believed it myself. Dane took care of the why and how of my presence; I only had to make them believe the story. After a while, it was even fun.

My story was that I had lived with my father in a secluded area that Dane had come across while traveling, and that the mansion was beginning to be in a state of disrepair with my father's failing health. Because of my father's health, and the fact that he was overprotective of me, I had never left the grounds of the estate, and was thus unused to and unknown to the outside world. With my father's death, I was able to leave with Dane, who had made arrangements with my father to have me marry him when my father died. An innocent country noblewoman who was down on her luck before being married off to an important politician was the perfect cover story.

In public, I wore the ring that Dane had given me, and though it honestly meant no more than a business proposition, it served to strengthen the story, since Dane had a matching ring that he wore in public as well. I didn't think that he had worn it at all until he gave the matching one to me, though I suspected he had had it for quite a while.

Within a few days of the old Saint's death, campaigns for new candidates began. Dane, of course, was included. We both became engrossed in the work of it and rarely had time for anything besides social parties, appearances, and rallies. I was introduced to the upper echelon of society but stayed emotionally distant from everyone; I had no purely social engagements. When I wasn't attending banquets or conferences with Dane, I stayed in his apartments, reading whatever I could get my hands on. I became familiar with history, art, music, language... All the things I had always wanted to learn but couldn't.

My wardrobe also expanded. After his some of his trips, Dane would toss a bolt of fabric or a new ensemble at my feet. The fabric I would design outfits for and send to the tailors to be made; the dresses and other things that Dane gave me I tried on and modeled for him. Every so often I would go out to the shops to buy other clothes to at least give the impression that I cared about modern fashion. Dane continued to wear his signature dark suits.

Through the campaign, I learned what a charismatic, seemingly caring person Dane could be. His smile never reached his eyes, but no one seemed to notice it as he waved at the crowds that came to hear his speeches. I had known from the moment I had met him, but I hadn't actually realized it until that moment that there was something about him that drew the people to him. Some dark charisma that people would be entranced by. He knew exactly what cards to play to win someone over, and he had all of them. It seemed that everyone loved him.

It wasn't until the final weeks of the campaigns that I learned that Dane had enemies lurking about. I had been out shopping in the morning, and had been handed a paper copy of the daily news. I didn't look at it at all until I got back to my rooms. I was curious about how a debate the day before had gone and attempted to find if anything had been written about it. There had been. It wasn't a nice review, either. The first half of it was a sly attack on some of the Saint candidates - one of which was Dane. The rest of it was focusing on the topics that had been discussed and the validity of the candidates' arguments.

I asked Dane about the article when he returned from whatever business the day had brought him. He only looked at the name of the paper, and tossed it on the floor.

"Worthless. That group would publicly disgrace their own mothers if it meant their paper would sell more," he sneered.

As he finished speaking, he had his arm around my waist and was pulling me towards him. He touched his forehead to mine.

"Best to get your news from the source," he smirked at me. I smirked back and gave him a quick kiss.

Over the months of the campaign we had drawn closer still, as would be expected of two people who were pretending to be married in the eyes of the general population. Sometimes, I wondered if there was indeed more on his mind in our relationship than just a mutual business gain. I still wanted power, he still vied for Saint; but there was something more to it now, more than just a power play. More than just reading Dane's journals of far-off places that I would never go aside from reading of them.

I still read his journals. After coming back from a trip, he would sit at his desk writing for hours on end before producing a manuscript that he would hand to me. He would rarely speak to me before I had finished reading whatever his latest journal was. Usually, he spoke to me through his journals. Occasionally, he would actually address them to me. He began talking more of the people who wished to keep the territories separate, and of the steps he began taking to ensure that he would be the one to rebuild them after they had fallen. Never in detail, but he mentioned them more often than he had before.

After I had finished with whatever journal Dane had given me, we talked. Sometimes it would be about the campaign, but most often it was just easy banter to talk both of our minds off the stress of everything. I knew that I had less to worry about than him, but for myself, I felt like just keeping up the charade was more than I could handle at some times.

As the final days of the campaign came, both of our stress levels came to a peak, and set us both on edge.

I found Dane sitting at his desk, which was normal enough. What started to worry me was the way he was organizing the things on the desk. He would have heard my footsteps as I came into the room, so there was no point in trying to surprise him. I walked around to his chair and put a hand on the back of it.

"What are you doing?"

An innocent enough question, but Dane knew I meant nothing innocent by it. He ignored me and continued to shuffle papers and things around. I repeated my question, a bit sterner this time, but I still received no acknowledgment. I tried a third time, reaching down to grab a paper, but Dane reacted before I had said the third word. He grabbed my wrist and held it steady, two inches above the desk. For a moment, he didn't say anything, and I tried to pull my wrist out of his grasp, but he didn't let go. After another moment, he spoke.

"I need to leave for a day or two."

There was less than one week left in the campaign - which he was winning! - and he chose now, of all times, to pull his disappearing act. I yanked my hand away from him, which he had loosened his grip on enough that I could, and turned away from him. I massaged my wrist a bit and tried to think. Behind me, Dane stood up and took a few steps away from me. If he left for a few days, that left me with a campaign to run, and I had no experience before this in politics of any sort. He was essentially leaving a lamb with a pack of wolves. I knew that those other elites didn't like me one bit, and if Dane wasn't around to protect me from their snide remarks, they would not hesitate to tear me to pieces. Dane must have heard my thoughts, because he spoke.

"You won't be in any danger. And you won't need to take over the campaign. That would cause more trouble than I need right now, so don't even try."

I spun to face him, incredulously. "That's not the point, here! The point is that you are leaving in the last week of the campaign. What will I tell anyone who comes looking for you? What about your meetings?"

He didn't move an inch, physically or otherwise. "You don't need to worry about it."

I stomped over to him and stood with my hands on my hips. "I think I do! What about what I'm going to do? Were you planning on leaving without telling me?"

He glared down at me, those icy blue eyes even more sharp than usual. "I wasn't going to leave without telling you. You will be perfectly fine--"

"No, I won't be! Have you any idea what those men will do if they find out you aren't here? This entire campaign could be ruined! And all because you decided to leave at a critical time. I won't have it."

By this point I was nearly screaming at him. When he didn't say anything, I did scream, wordlessly, and raised my fist. He caught it easily, and held it above my head. I didn't bother with my other hand. I made another noise that sounded like a scream, and twisted around to see if he'd let go.

"Let me go."

I felt his eyes on me, and looked up. His face was completely blank. His grip tightened.

"Dane, stop!"

He still didn't let go, and I looked away. I grabbed at his hand with my free one, but to no avail.

"That hurts!"

I pried at his fingers, but it did no good. He never took his eyes off me.

"You said you desire power?" he hissed in a dangerous tone, "You were the one who asked me for help. I'm the one helping you, I decide the terms. Or have you changed your mind?"

After another second he let go. I moved for the door as quickly as I could without actually running. I was at the bottom of the stairwell before I realized where I was going, and pushed myself under the floating staircase. My wrist hurt, and I massaged it again, studying the stairs.

The stairs were only horizontal beams arranged so that a person could step on them. But from where I sat, I could see the opposite wall through the space between the steps. It all seemed grey and dreary, suddenly, and I almost wished I was back in my tiny room out in the lower area of the city. My breathing was still quick, and my heart pounded. I was on the brink of tears. I wished I hadn't made such a fuss.

Dane had scared me. Well and truly, scared me. I had never seen him so furious; he had never physically hurt me before, either. That, most of all, was what had scared me. And yet, the whole time, the only thing I could think of was how thin Dane's hands were. His fingers were longer than mine, but just as thin; his hands were larger than mine. I had seen him wear gloves on a few occasions, and they looked so elegant on him that I took every excuse I could think of to hold his hand. Those beautiful hands had a vice grip. I massaged my wrist again.

After a few minutes, I heard the doors to Dane's apartments opening and closing, and finally Dane's familiar footsteps on the stairs. They stopped momentarily a few steps above my head, and continued down to the last step.

Dane sat on the steps, nearly beside me; my shoulder at the level of his knees. We sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes. The silence grew, and finally grew unbearable.

"Dane--" I started.

"I need to go," Dane said quietly, cutting me off. "I know you don't understand why, but I need to."

I pointedly did not look at him. "Then explain it to me."

Another shroud of silence descended. Dane sat perfectly still, but after a few minutes, I began to fidget. I gave in.

"Why do you have to go?" I asked, turning towards him.

He merely sat there; facing away from me, not moving a muscle. I reached through the space between the steps and touched his leg. He didn't react at all. I repeated my question a bit louder.

"Because I must."

His voice was steady and cold. I felt something warm slide down my cheek.

"... You're heartless."

He didn't acknowledge that I had spoken. He stood up, stepped down off the steps, and left.

Dane didn't return until late the next night, after I had fallen asleep. The days had passed without incident, thankfully, and I had been asleep for maybe an hour when Dane finally returned. He slipped in to my room silently, and touched my shoulder, which woke me. I opened my eyes groggily, and focused as best I could on the dark figure standing beside me. It was hard to see where his dark suit ended and the blackness of the room began. The only thing I could focus on with any amount of success was his hair, which seemed to emit its own light, and glowed like the moon on a clear night. I slowly propped myself up on my elbow as Dane sat on the edge of the bed, next to me.

Neither of us said anything, because nothing really needed to be said. Dane was back, and by afternoon, the results of who the next Saint was would be in. With the hand that wasn't propping myself up, I held Dane's hand. He took this as an apology for my getting upset at his leaving, which I suppose it was, and accepted it by covering my hand with his other hand for a moment. I dropped back down onto my pillows and closed my eyes, still holding Dane's hand. With his free hand, Dane kissed his fingertips, touched my forehead, and I was asleep.

I don't think Dane slept at all, because he was still sitting there, with my hand in his when I woke up. I opened my eyes slowly, not needing to wait for my eyes to adjust much, since the light in the room was diffused to the point of being dim. He wasn't looking at me when I opened my eyes, he was staring off across the room. I smiled gently and pulled slightly on his hand. His eyes instantly snapped down to mine.

"You slept well." It wasn't a question.

"You didn't sleep at all." Neither was that.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and his gaze slid sideways. "I was thinking about a lot of things."

My smile fell a little and I pulled on his hand a little harder. Today was an important day, and Dane needed to be ready for anything and everything. In one motion, I moved myself over to the other side of the bed and pulled his arm, followed by the rest of him across the bed. He managed to keep himself balanced on one arm, though. I sat up, crossed my legs under the covers, and put my face close to his.

"You need rest, whether you like it or not," I accused.

Dane scowled for a moment, and took his hand from mine to push a lock of hair back behind his ear. His next actions took me completely by surprise, so much so that I didn't know how the react. He supported himself with the hand he had just taken from mine, and with his now free hand, grabbed my shoulder and fell down onto the bed, taking me with him. I was now trapped under his arm, snuggled up against him.

"You're staying with me, then."

I tried to wiggle out, and failed. "I don't seem to have much of a choice, now, do I?"

He hugged me closer and smirked. "None at all."

Within a few minutes, he was asleep. I tried again to get up, but his reflex seemed to be to hold me tighter every time I did. After a while I was resigned to my fate.

It amazed me how peaceful Dane looked when he was sleeping. Without the intensity of his eyes defining his expression, he looked exhausted and almost content. Surprisingly, his silver hair didn't make him look old, merely sophisticated and experienced. I snaked my arm under his and ran my fingers through a lock of it that was within reach. It was soft as silk and as light as air. I had half-expected him to wake up at the touch, but he slept on.

It only seemed fair that since he had thought and watched me sleep, I should do the same for him. In what seemed an eternity before, but was in truth only a few weeks earlier, Dane had added to his growing pile of journals. He had mentioned a man named Press. It was the first time I could think of that the journal had contained a name other than the territory or place-names.

"Press and the others have begun their counterstrike," he had written. "But in the end, it is inevitable that the territories will converge, and they will see that they are as hypocritical as they claim I am. They exist for only one purpose - to combine the territories, rebuild them, and make them stronger, and yet they resist that destiny to try and keep the territories separate."

Was that, then, the only reason Dane existed as well? Once the territories were rebuilt, then what? Did the Travelers all disappear, or did they stay to rule the territories? Or perhaps something completely different altogether?

While a million different questions crossed my mind, I tried not to pay them any heed. I had time enough to think about the philosophy of the universe later. What was real, however, was that Dane was there right then. The weight of his arm across me as I lay there was real enough for me. I shifted to turn on my side, pull myself a little closer to Dane, and close my eyes again for just a little more sleep.

We must have slept for an hour like that. I stirred when I felt the weight of his arm leave me. I opened my eyes again as Dane sat up on the opposite edge of the bed. I turned the other way and stood up from the other side of the bed. Dane continued to sit. I wandered around and slowly got ready for the already halfway lost morning. When I had finished, Dane had moved from sitting, to his desk, and had begun his ritual writing. I knew I'd be reading it later, and so had no qualms about peeking over his shoulder as he wrote.

"What?" he halfheartedly snapped at me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck before answering. "Nothing. I just wanted to see what you were writing. And warn you not to take too long... we do have other things to do today, you know."

Dane set down his pen with a thunk, and put his hand on my arm and leaned back into me. "Sometimes... I really wish I didn't. Just being like this is enough."

I nuzzled my face in his hair. "I know."

Dane shook his head. "No, you don't. You don't understand half of this. This is all much more complicated than you can even imagine."

"Then I won't imagine it."

"Then I'll disappear."

I had to stop and think about that comment for a moment. Was it like some children's story where if I stopped believing in him, he'd end up not existing at all? I didn't believe that at all. I touched his jaw to make him look up, and kissed his forehead.

"You wouldn't dare leave me."

Dane let out a long breath, but didn't actually say anything in response. I fell silent as well. After a moment Dane picked up his pen again and continued to write as if nothing had happened to interrupt him. I had noticed a trend in his writing lately; he often wrote out his feelings, or what he wanted to say out loud but wouldn't.

I suppressed a sigh and straightened a little, resting my elbows on Dane's shoulders. Today, of all days, should be a happy one, I thought to myself. By the end of the campaign, Dane had been the public favorite, as well as having a strong backing in the government. It was almost sure that he would win, today, and become the Saint. We were only a step away from the power we both so badly wanted. I ran my fingers through Dane's silky hair a few times to calm myself down; it had just started to sink in that the results would be announced today.

Dane didn't react, merely continued to write as if I weren't there. Everything about him was normal, as if this were just another day and nothing exciting would happen. He didn't seem agitated or nervous, just as intense as always. There was no worry in his movements or slight shaking in his writing, just fluidity. Something about his lack of reaction annoyed me, I think, but at the time I never noticed the irritation. It wasn't long before I started getting bored and nervous from doing nothing, and I began pacing across the room. If Dane was irked by this, he neither said nor did anything to stop me.

A short time later, which to me seemed like ages, Dane finally set down his pen and watched me stride ineffectually back and forth. After four or five passes, he finally spoke, which was to tell me to stop doing something so meaningless. I did stop, for a few moments, but started again when he said nothing further. I could feel his eyes still following me and refused to acknowledge that it made me slightly uncomfortable. He knew why I had continued to pace; it was one of the few ways that I would lash out at him when I was upset. And yet, he did nothing to change the situation he had put himself in.

Fifty-some passes later, I finally wore out. I strode over to the chair I usually read in, and collapsed into it. Dane only spared me a second's glance before getting up and disappearing out of my line of vision. I was left alone with my thoughts and the sound of my breathing. Cabinets opened and closed, and glass clinked, and a minute later Dane reappeared with food and drink. I wondered if he had brought any new or interesting food back with him from his latest excursion, as opposed to it as I had been. It turned out that he had.

He set down the silver tray on an empty space on his desk, turning over the two glass mugs and began to pour the new nearly black concoction into them. Dane noticed my gaze and the question in it, and answered without my having to ask anything.

"It's called 'kaf'. It tastes like the coffee from the Earth territories, but a little spicier."

I made a face into the mug as he handed it to me, but he chose to ignore it. I wasn't fond of the bitter black drink from Earth, and he knew it. However, he also knew that my curiosity at this new drink would overpower my dislike for it's supposed relative. I gave the liquid another suspicious glance and took a sip. It tasted like someone had mixed the spiced teas that I liked with the black coffee that I didn't. Though it was still painfully obvious to me that the drink was mostly cooked beans, the spices covered up some of the bitterness usually associated with coffee. I took another sip, and found that I liked the drink more than I had anticipated I would.

"It's decent," I said at length, knowing that Dane wanted to know how I liked the kaf. His only response was a nod and another sip of his own drink.

Once we had finished the kaf, we began our preparations for the announcing and inauguration of the new Saint. For the occasion, Dane had brought me a full-length formal dress. It was one of only three long dresses that I ever wore, and one of those was a formal robe from a territory Dane called Zadaa. It was white with black trim, and black mousseline underskirts and collar trim. The top skirt was slit up the front in two places with the underskirts showing through, and the sleeves were tight fitted finally tapering off to a point at the base of my fingers, with more of the black sheer fabric spilling out over my hands. The shoes, even though they weren't really visible, were black and unadorned with a small heel. My hair was down, but two mousseline barrettes kept the majority of it behind my shoulders to accentuate the dress.

Dane, typically, wore all black. His hair shone with an unearthly light that the black of his suit seemed to suck up, making the hair shine all the brighter. It was simple and elegant, made of the finest fabric, and worn with a grace that only Dane could pull off. He looked like a perfect gentleman. I knew, however, that under his calm exterior, he was anything but. I could see it in his eyes that he had million thoughts rushing through his consciousness, and a million schemes and plots both already set in motion and dormant playing out in countless scenarios. He never stopped his brilliant strategic mind, even for a second. For him, it would mean death, or worse.

He had been waiting for me, and looked up as I reentered the room. I walked over to where he was standing and twirled slowly so that he could inspect the dress. Somehow, they always fit me perfectly.

"You look lovely," he said cooly, without smiling. He wasn't someone I would have expected to forgive or forget anything easily, so his attitude at the moment was no surprise, considering our argument just before. Still, I knew it wasn't only that. I smiled a little on the inside, knowing that even Dane could succumb to nervousness.

Before he could slip past me and open the door, I closed the remaining distance between us, little though there was. After a moment, I looked up at him. There was a second's hesitation before he wrapped his arms around me, his expression never changing from that icy mask. He pulled me close, and I snaked my arms around his waist as well. I closed my eyes and soaked up everything I could about that moment, knowing full well that from that point on our lives would never be the same. Dane felt it, too; I could feel it in the way his arms tightened around me, threatening to wrest my breath from me. My breathing must have changed, because as suddenly as his grip had tightened, it loosened, and he began amusing himself with running his fingers through my hair as he was occasionally wont to do. After a few moments, he untangled himself from my hair and kissed the top of my head. He pulled away first. The moment was over. It was time to leave for the ceremony.

The actual journey to the main governmental buildings was short and uneventful. Despite the large numbers of people in the streets and milling around waiting for the announcement and ceremonies, travel was easy. When we arrived, we were escorted to a large balcony overlooking the largest open square in the city and seated with the other candidates and their wives. Polite smiles were passed around with no sincerity or friendship in them. Dane never smiled; he and the other candidates merely nodded at each other, and the others exchanged glances among themselves.

After a time, a courier came out onto the balcony to call the crowd to attention. Once the clamor of the crowd had been quieted to a dull roar, the man introduced one of the leaders of the council which had overseen the electing of the new Saint. He looked to be one of the pompous government lackwits against whom I had sworn myself. He spoke, and introduced each of the candidates. As he did, each candidate stood and addressed the crowd in some way. Most waved and nodded their heads and smiled.

When Dane was introduced, he only stood, and the din of the crowd became deafening. He didn't need to do anything else; he was the favorite candidate. There was that dark charisma, again, bubbling to the surface.

Again, the crowd had to be brought under control. Once this had been accomplished, the same magisterial official took up the spotlight and gave a long-winded speech. I had never heard anyone speak so much without actually saying anything. I stopped paying attention to it and focused on Dane. He was like a well-trained hunting dog hot on a scent; everything about him was twice as intense and riveted as normal. He sat staring straight ahead, but noticed my gaze on him and glanced down at me for a moment. I moved my hand to rest it upon his. He didn't spare me a glance; my attention returned to the speaker, who seemed to be finishing.

Finally, he found his way to the real purpose of the whole gathering. With another anfractuous explanation, he managed to explain that the decision had been hard and that some of the council still had not come out happy with the decision. I glanced to see Dane's reaction, but there was none on his stony expression. Still, the speaker rambled on.

"... and, for now, till the time of his death, he will be the Protector of..."

I repressed an exasperated sigh and tried to concentrate.

"... he will be the Saint. And he is..."

I looked at Dane again for this final reaction. His face turned to thunderclouds, and I prayed that I would never see him in a rage like that again.

The name announced hadn't been his.


	4. Breaking the Rules

Chapter 3, Breaking the Rules

For the next few days I avoided Dane as much as possible. He wasn't violent, he wasn't angry with me at all, but when he looked at me, I knew that nothing I said would help to calm him down. He rarely stayed around me long enough for me to say anything, anyway. Even when he did, I stayed silent as he ranted and raved. I was honestly afraid of him.

I mostly read for those days, or stared out windows blankly at the sky. It wasn't the most exciting thing, but I had nothing else to occupy me. After those first few days, I knew that Dane had taken to traveling around to his other worlds again. He began writing again, but wouldn't let me read it. He also seemed to calm a bit, as well. When he looked at me it wasn't so much a glare as a calculating contemplation. I let a few more days pass to be sure he wouldn't lash out at me. Finally, he seemed to have calmed back to some semblance of his former self, so I found myself speaking up.

"Dane...," I began, rather shakily.

He cut me off by saying, "Don't bother apologizing. It's just words with no meaning, now."

My shoulders sagged a bit, and I looked down.

He continued, "There are plans in motion as we speak. It seems that my supporters were not satisfied with the Council's decision, after all. We shall see what becomes of it."

I deflated even more. Dane left again, this time for several days. It wasn't that I was unhappy that plots were developing under the government's nose, but I couldn't help but feel uneasy about them. During the time that Dane was gone, I rarely moved much. My energy had been inexplicably drained, and I had no motivation to do anything but lie in my bed. I thought about writing, I thought about reading, I thought about eating, but nothing seemed interesting or able to hold my attention for more than a moment. I awaited Dane's return.

When he did return, he was in much better spirits than he had been when he left. I had finally motivated myself into doing something more constructive than stare at the ceiling, had taken a long bath, and was just settling in to read a book when Dane came cavorting through the door. His obviously good mood must have been infectious, since I suddenly found myself full of energy. By the time I had snapped the book shut and stood up, Dane was standing in front of me with a sly grin on his face. Apparently, things had gone well for him. My earlier fear of him was completely gone, and he was completely back to his old self as far as I was concerned. I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck, but found I didn't have as far as I had thought to go, since at the same moment, he had leaned down to meet my lips with his.

A moment later, I mumbled something incoherent into Dane's mouth and he pulled away to let me repeat myself.

"Something's finally gone right, then?" I inquired, one delicate finger tracing his jaw line. His cool smirk slowly changed into a dangerous grin devoid of mercy or compassion. His eyes were filled with a sadistic light. He rested his forehead on mine.

"Oh, yes. Something has definitely gone right, my dear," he responded, the eerie light still in his eyes.

The last time I had seen that look had been just before our lives had become entangled in the web of politicians, alliances, artifices, and campaigning. I tried not to grimace. Those times hadn't been my idea of happy, most of the time. Most of the other politicians hated me for no other reason than I was close to Dane, and expressed that whenever they could. If Dane was with me, I wasn't subjected to their harassment, but as soon as he wasn't by my side, they sought me out like a predator stalked its prey. He never said anything about it, however, by an unspoken agreement. And now that look of his was back, and I wanted to know if I was going to be thrown back down that pit of emotional trauma.

I slid my arms down to wrap around Dane's waist. He moved his forehead from mine as I did, and I turned my head so that my cheek rested on his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around me, as well.

"And what, may I ask, is it that has taken you away from here for so many days and gone so definitely right?" I queried, a touch more melancholy in my voice than I had hoped.

Dane sensed it, and answered precariously, "I finally found a weak flank. After all this time, I don't know why I didn't see it before. It was right there." He punctuated the last two words. "So I will hit him when and where he least expects it."

"Do you mean the new Saint? What are you-"

"No, no, no, my dear," he chided. "I am talking about a greater rival of mine: that uncultivated cretin, Press. He thinks he holds all the cards, but we'll see who has the better hand, in the end..."

All of these adventures of his were still nothing but stories to me. I had never been far out of this city I was in now, and was seriously doubting whether I would ever go further. The journals I still read, especially when Dane was gone, were of far-off places, daring feats, unimaginable people, inventions, and beyond my imagination in all aspects. I still didn't think most of it was possible. I let Dane have his fun and games in his own worlds, and read about them later. Other than that, I didn't interfere with those places.

Dane let go of me and moved out of my grasp to start pacing across the floor excitedly. He was muttering things to himself. At least, I thought to myself, I wouldn't have to endure the scathing remarks of the upper-class again. I went to get glasses and wine to mark this obvious occasion to celebrate. When I returned, Dane was calmly seated in the chair I had occupied earlier, and was paging through the book I had been reading. He looked so handsome sitting in that chair dressed in all black, one leg crossed over the other, a large tome on his knee, one hand steadying the book, the other flipping the pages, silver hair cascading over his face so that it was half obscured. His eyes ran over the lines quickly; those blue, cold, intensely expressive eyes of his, searching for some key word in the old volume. I stood and watched him for a minute before coming to myself and moving forward again. He looked up as I did.

"I thought we might have a toast to the success you've had," I explained sheepishly.

His expression softened a little and he smiled at me. I handed the bottle over to him, and he opened it, poured, and we made the toast. Half a bottle of wine later, he smiled at me again.

"I missed you, you know," he murmured.

By this point, I was seated on the floor, and my head was resting on his knee. His hand was running through my hair constantly, which had a soporific effect. I smiled back, even though he couldn't see it.

"I know."

The initial excitement had worn off, and we had reverted back to our more usual, sedate selves. I was exhausted, not having done much since Dane had left, and even that small bit of elation too much for me to handle. The silences between comments was growing, and the methodical stroking of my hair was soothing. Soon, I was asleep.

When I awoke, I was in my bed, tucked under the covers up to the neck. I had grown quite used to the unusual aftereffects of wine and didn't even have a headache, since I hadn't drunk much, relatively speaking. I looked around the room as if it could provide a clue as to how I ended up in my bed, though it was hardly a mystery.

That clue was once again sitting in a chair, book in hand, but now it was slowly sliding to the floor since the hand holding it was limp. He was asleep, for once, and I didn't intend to wake him. Quietly, I slipped out of bed and padded across the floor to the door. I left my feet bare, since shoes would certainly make enough noise to wake Dane. As silently as I could, I opened the door and went into the next room and on to find some breakfast.

As I made myself a meal, I reflected on what I remembered of the night before. Something had gone right. The laughing look in Dane's blue eyes; those eyes that I wanted to believe in miracles because of. The wine, and it's wonderful but burning taste. My thoughts started to turn sullen after that. I wondered if one day I wouldn't just wake up and find that everything about Dane had been a dream. I thought about what would have happened if either one of us hadn't been in the marketplace that day. What would happen in the future? I thought, selfishly, that Dane would stay with me forever. I didn't want this small piece of happiness I had finally found to end. I wouldn't let it.

After eating and changing, I found that Dane had moved from the chair and disappeared. It wasn't unusual for him to disappear, so I wasn't worried.

It was when he didn't return for two more days that I began to worry. I couldn't recall a time that he had been gone for days on end and only had a one night interval between trips. One the third day, one of his journals arrived by way of the ring he had given me. It was not on the type of paper in his desk: it was thinner, lighter in color, and smoother. I untied the ribbon that was holding it in a roll and noted that it was, in fact, one of my hair ribbons. I hadn't even noticed that he had taken it. I unfurled the paper, sat down, and began reading.

He wrote that he would be back as soon as he could, but that he didn't know when that would be. Again, I shifted into reading the journal as if it were a fictional story, not connecting the events to the man I knew would return to me soon. The document also explained the event that had caused Dane to be in such a jovial mood on his last return. Dane had created the alias of "Andy Mitchell" to stay out of his rival Press's view. What he didn't tell me, naturally, were the plans that were being set in motion here. And I worried.

I plodded my way through the lines and finished by the next morning. Dane hadn't returned, and I hadn't expected him to. Still, the unexplainable worry was starting to eat away at me. I tried to be patient. In the end, I turned worry into anger. Anger at Dane for not telling me he would be gone for so long. Anger that he couldn't have stayed another day before leaving again. The anger simmered while I waited. I waited for two more days before he returned.

This time, when he returned it wasn't accompanied with the joyousness of the previous time; rather, he came in quietly, and he seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere in the space of time it took for me to walk into one room, grab a book, and turn around. Literally, I turned around and he was standing there, sorting through the papers in his desk and not noticing me standing in the doorway. I was so surprised that I couldn't say anything to announce my presence, so it was a few moments before Dane turned around. When he finally looked in my direction he stood straight up, papers still in his hand, and stared at me.

"L- Lanneri... You... are you... you're here," he stammered. My jaw tightened slightly and I retreated a few steps into the room I had just come from. I couldn't go any further because as soon as he saw me move, Dane dashed forward and grabbed me. "Lanneri! Stop, I can explain. Just wait a moment!"

I struggled to get out of his grip, but I knew before I started that it was pointless. One hand held me by the elbow, and the other by my waist; I was stuck until he chose to let go. I glared at him and gave one last struggle before I gave up. My glare, however, I didn't stop. He still held on to me, but loosened his grip.

"I couldn't have stayed long in any case. I didn't want to have another--"

"You could have at least told me you were leaving! I wouldn't have minded if it had only been for a day! You were gone for four. You didn't even say anything about it in your journal."

I continued to glare at Dane, and he finally let go of me. He lowered his gaze, and we were both silent for a long time. I broke the stillness and silence.

"I... didn't mean it," I said, taking a step toward Dane. He didn't move or acknowledge me, so I took another step. And one more, as I reached out to take a loose hold on his sleeve and lean my forehead against his shoulder. "I just... want to know what's going on."

Dane gently moved me a step away from him by taking my upper arm. I kept my gaze lowered until he spoke, and then I let my eyes meet his.

"All right. I'll tell you," he muttered, "I'd rather have waited, but if you insist, I won't wait."

I took his hand off of my arm and held it in both of mine. His skin was still as cold as ever; I had always tried to warm his hands, but had never managed to do it. What I wanted more than anything at that moment was for him to tell me his plans, to prove to myself that he trusted me. He said that if I insisted that he would, and insist I did.

"Yes, I do," I stated firmly, not flinching away from his gaze.

"Then this is what the Dissenters are planning," he started.

The Dissenters were what his group of discontent supporters had started calling themselves. The had been getting more and more publicity every day for the stunts they had been trying to pull. First, they tried to break into the Saint's rooms; then, they attempted to kidnap one of the Saint's advisors and hold him for the ransom of the Saint's resignation.

"Or, rather," he amended, "what I am telling them the next step will be. They will do nothing. They will not move until I tell them to. In the meantime, another plan will be set in motion. This is the plan I would have told you when the time to set it into motion was at hand. However, since you have pressed me into telling you..."

I did look away from his glare at that unfinished sentence, but looked back at him when he covered one of my hands with his free one. He hadn't meant anything by the comment.

"I have passcodes for all the levels of security. I can get you as far as the Saint's door. All I need you to do is to step through the door. Tell him that I did something to you, tell him that you're afraid, tell him anything. Because once he sees you as a helpless woman, he won't see the knife coming for his throat."

I stared. My stunned incredulity turned to dubiousness, which immediately turned to anger. I stepped away from him quickly and glared again.

"No. No! You can't seriously expect-- I could never--! Besides, you think there wouldn't be repercussions? I'm still far too new in this level of society to make it out unscathed. And besides, I can't murder a man! This is me- me, Dane!- and you know I don't have it in me! Isn't there some other--"

"No," he said flatly, "No, there isn't another way. You knew it might have come to this when you first came here. Where is the resolve you had then? Do you still desire power over them? Do you still wish to punish the imbeciles who make the lives of those poorer than themselves so horrible? I though that was your objective in coming to me."

His voice grew louder with each question. Finally, I'd had enough, and sank to the floor on my knees, pressing my hands to my ears in attempt to not hear what I had confessed I had wanted all that time ago. He only stood and glowered at me, even after he had finished speaking. I continued to cover my ears.

"Just stop! I can't... it's too cruel!"

"Too cruel? And you think that leaving thousands of people to die every day because of things you have the power to change isn't?! You are the one making those you wanted to help suffer, now! Not the government, not the aristocracy, not the Saint! You!"

He knelt next to me and wrenched one of my hands from my ear. I gave a small shout of pain but didn't move otherwise. He leaned in close to my ear and hissed, "Where is the righteous rage of the woman I first met?"

He let me go as quickly as he had grabbed me, and I collapsed even further onto the ground. He stood and turned around saying only one more sentence to me being leaving the rooms.

"This is why I was going to wait to tell you."

I waited until I couldn't hear him anymore before getting very slowly to my feet. It took a few minutes to calm myself down enough to think about what to do about the situation. I thought and thought, and hours later I still hadn't come up with an idea and Dane still hadn't returned. After staying up half the night waiting to see if he would come back, I made a decision. It was the only decision I thought I could make.

I left.

I had come with nothing, and I took nothing with me as I left, except for a head scarf to hide my hair. I walked out the same door I had come in, walked down the same streets I had traversed in the opposite direction what seemed so long ago. I went back to the market where everything had started. I went past that and down the streets I used to ghost through. I had nearly made it back to the abandoned building that had previously been my favorite hideaway, but two streets from my destination, I came upon an unexpected individual.

I had seen him at banquets that Dane had taken me to. He was a strong supporter of the current Saint, and, though the details were unclear to me still, he had a long running grudge against Dane. Why I should have met him at that exact place at that time I do not know.

Time stood still for a moment as our eyes suddenly met. I knew that he recognized me as readily as I had recognized him. Had I kept moving he may have overlooked me passing him, but I stopped twenty paces from him and stared. The sudden stop was what caught his attention and drew it to me. We watched each other without moving.

Two more men stood a few paces behind him, watching him watch me. They were his bodyguards, I knew that much. Not many of the aristocracy went anywhere near the lower parts of the city without guards of some sort. They were too scared of the citizens to do otherwise. Those in power kept the people under control through many strict laws, memorandums, addendums to those memorandums, and by using a religious monopoly.

Finally, reluctantly, he made the first move. He smirked.

"Well, well, if it isn't Dane's quiet, mild-mannered little harlot. What's brought you all the way out here, now, hm?"

I took a step backward; I was more than used to the taunts by this time, but that didn't make them any easier to hear or bear. He took a step forward, keeping the distance between us the same as it had been. I shook my head.

"N-no. I-I'm lost. Dane's waiting outside the city, I-I just... couldn't f-find..."

"Well, then, maybe I can escort you to him... Jezebel, was it?" he asked, mockingly.

Again I shook my head and took a step backward, prepared to run at any moment. The reason I hadn't run yet was the bodyguards. I knew that they would be faster and much stronger than me. I was trapped. My only chance was to talk my way out, and the odds of that happening were growing slimmer by the second. I spared him an irritated glare for a moment, however. If I was caught here, I wasn't going down without a fight.

"L-Lanneri. And no, thank you, I-I think I can find my way there," I stammered. I turned on my heel to leave, but just as I had predicted, the two watchmen were faster than I.

They caught up to me in less time than it took me to realize what they were doing. Roughly, they reached out and each took hold of one of my elbows. I struggled, but try as I might, I could not escape from their tenacious grips. Slowly, their employer sauntered toward us, taking his time with every step. My fear and anticipation of what they would do grew with each step the man took.

"Well, now, can't have a lady unescorted at night down here in the slums, can we?"

I hated the way he spoke in questions. He led the way and his two bodyguards dragged me with them. Once we were off the street, they started down an alleyway, and from there on, everything was black.


	5. The First and Final Move

Chapter 4, The First and Final Move

He stood at the mouth of the flume, running his hand over the crystal. He knew he shouldn't have given in to her request, but every day it seemed harder and harder to deny her whatever she wanted. There was no logical explanation for this phenomenon, either. It was as if logic didn't apply to her; as if logic could not be applied to her. He thought that it was partly that reason he had kept her close to him for as long as he had. He had never allowed anyone else to be this close, this far in before.

She was still as much of an enigma to him as he was to her. He never wrote his true thoughts in his journals, he only wrote what was pertinent to the plots in motion at that time. Even if he had chosen her to be the one who read the journals, that didn't mean he had to be completely honest in them or with her. He withheld and gave out information as it suited him. But somehow she had managed to get the one piece of information he had planned on not telling her until the very last moment from him. That one piece of information that would, in all probability, be the undoing of everything their relationship had been up until that point.

But it doesn't matter at all, he thought, looking further down the endless crystal tunnel. Relationships were merely a means to an end, to him. So, then, why was this troubling him so much? It was just that he was used to having her to talk to in order to sort out his thoughts. Being able to say things aloud and being able to write them to another person often helped him more than tackling a problem by himself. That was all there was to it.

But there was that nagging feeling at the back of his mind, telling him that there was something else. Something he had not thought of. No, it wasn't that he hadn't thought it, it was that he wouldn't allow himself to think it. He pushed that feeling back down.

He knew he should go back. This was no way to end things. It hadn't been on his terms. Or, at least, it hadn't been on the terms he had wanted.

Dragging his hand along the glimmering wall, he walked out of the tunnel the way he had come, and retraced his steps.

Once again, she had done the unimaginable. She had left.

"No," he whispered forlornly into the still rooms and left again, this time, in pursuit.

It wasn't hard to guess where she had headed. Before him, she had only had one place to go.

He lengthened his stride and headed toward the market at which he had first met her. It was taking him too long to get there, he thought. He ought to have been there by now. She ought to have known better than to leave.

Perhaps, though, she had known better. Maybe he was thinking along the completely wrong lines: she had left, knowing that he would go to the one place he thought she would go, but had actually gone somewhere else just to prove a point. But that would require her to be able to predict what he would do, which he thought she thought she wasn't good at. Then he was thinking in circles. Endless spirals of plot and prediction spun through his mind as he ran down the silent streets.

At length, he decided that thinking about the problem was a dead end, and turned his mind elsewhere as he searched for her. She had shown up out of nowhere and had literally run headlong into his life. At first, she had been naïve, poor, and scared. Now, she had matured, though she was still quite naïve about some things, and seemed to be taking more control of her life. Or trying to, in any case. He knew that in her trying to take control of her situation she had probably inadvertently made it much worse. But at least the will power was there. She had lost it after agreeing to stay with him. He hadn't done anything to change that. She read his journals, she was waiting for him when he returned and thought about him when he was gone. He told himself he didn't care and tried with all his might to feel that way.

There was something about her that wouldn't allow him to remain apathetic towards her. Or maybe, some secret, hidden voice breathed, there was something in him that wouldn't allow it. Whatever the reason, and however hard he might try to cover it up, he cared. He wouldn't let himself admit it to even himself.

Lately, he had been reluctant to go after Press, wanting to stay and divert all his energies and connections to securing his position as Saint. He wanted to stay close to her as often as possible, for no solid reason that he could come up with. He knew that he shouldn't have lashed out at her for it; it was his problem and he should be the one to deal with it, but he didn't know what else to do. He should never have left. But that was past, and there was no point in trying to change it. Change what you could and work from there.

As soon as he entered the market area, he knew something was wrong. Something, but what, he couldn't tell. There was something off about the light, what little there was. He spoke a word, and it reverberated off the empty stalls lifelessly.

Suddenly, there was movement to his left, and three figures dashed off into the night.

He turned quickly to where the movement had originated. There was something there. A small figure, not more than a vague shadow in the alley, lay on the ground. But what little light there was caught something lighter, something silver.

Dane rushed over to her, and lifted her so that she was sitting. She looked like she was sleeping.

"Lanneri. Lanneri! Snap out of it; what happened? Who was it?"

A small noise escaped her and he hugged her to his chest. She looked like a broken doll discarded on the ground; her limbs stuck out at odd angles, she already had a few vivid bruises, and it felt like she had broken bones. Blood was running in a small trail from her mouth and from the corner of her left eye. Whoever had done this to his dearest Lanneri would pay. He leaned in close, putting his ear by her mouth.

"What was that, my dear?" he asked quietly. She repeated the name, just loud and articulate enough for him to decipher. "It was, was it? He'll get what's coming to him. For now, just try to rest, dearest. I'll get you home."

She didn't respond, but he thought she relaxed a little as he picked her up. She had been hit from behind with something hard, and it had knocked her out. Most likely, something was broken and needed to be set as quickly as possible. Still, if he was to find the extremity of her injuries, it was best done somewhere with better light and warmth. As quickly as he could, he carried her back through the dark streets.

When they returned, he made her as comfortable as he could - he laid her on a bed, surrounded by pillows and thick blankets, opened the shades to let more light in. Her breathing was shallow and pained, but once he had arranged her on the pillows, it seemed to become more relaxed.

At first, she was completely still and silent, in a healing coma. Later, then, every so often, she would be conscious enough to whisper something or other to him, at which he would be at her side, bent over near enough to hear what was always possibly her last lucid words.

"I... I knew... th-this would... not... remain for-... forever... but while it... lasted... I was happy," she breathed. Her hand moved slightly and he took it in his and tried to smile at her, even though she couldn't see him. Bright light made her cringe, even when her eyes were closed, so he kept the room dim. He thought something had been damaged, but it seemed to be less noticeable now.

Another day she whispered, "I'm... sorry if I... ever chained you down... Now... you're f-free... You... can let... go..."

He waited for hours sometimes, just to see if she would speak. Her breathing grew more and more shallow as time went on. Just when he had thought she was taking a turn for the better, she seemed to relapse. Her conscious moments were less often. When she was passing through a particularly hard time, he stroked her cheek.

"I just want to stay with you, you know," he confessed quietly, "I just want you to stay with me."

He noticed that it was when he had been away for longer periods of time that she grew worse. Maybe it was the physical contact that let her heal faster. Maybe it was having someone talk to her that gave her mind the jump it needed to want to live. Once, she almost opened her eyes as she said, "A little bird... told me... the future isn't... real... until you... make... it..." Here her eyes fluttered momentarily. "Live... as if... you were to... die... tomorrow..."

Her lips twitched into a small, warm smile for a moment, then relaxed. He wondered what she was dreaming of, to have thoughts like that. After that, he left her side only occasionally with great reluctance. Her breathing improved, though she didn't open her eyes.

Finally, there were weeks that went by and she didn't speak. His plans were falling into place. This was the last time he thought he would see her. This was the end; he had nothing to lose after this.

He sat by her side on the bed, and took her hand in both of his.

"It's time. Soon, I'll be Saint and I will have vindicated those who did this to you. But I swear I will never forget this. I know you wanted the world, all of the worlds, and I was ready to give them to you. No, I will give them to you. I'll beat Press and his idiotic minions. I will make the beg for forgiveness for what they did," he said, asking himself if she would give them mercy. It was the sort of thing she would do. But not him. He continued, "And I will save you. Somehow. If I can rule all of Halla, I can save you."

He leaned over and kissed her one last time.

"I promise."

* * *

_Author's end note: Thanks, all, for reading, and for bearing with me through my lack of knowledge about how the heck to use this site. There may be a sequel type thing to this, I'm not sure yet. The character just kind of took on a life of their own, and the story might end up continuing... At least, on Saint Dane's end. Tell me what you think. Again, thanks for reading, everyone. Hobey ho, let's go._


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